


Weekends Are For Doing Weekend Shit

by grainyangel



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M, That's all I got, bossy Tommy, idk man, jerking off, sub Favs i suppose, uhhhhhhhhhhh handjobs?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 20:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20516306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grainyangel/pseuds/grainyangel
Summary: “When was the last time you got laid?”“Pardon me?”“Sex, Jon, when was the last time you had it?”“How is that relevant?”“I’m asking.”-Lovett is away on tour and Tommy notices Jon being weird and overworking himself and takes it upon himself to provide a distraction to get Jon out of his own head. Antics ENSUE





	Weekends Are For Doing Weekend Shit

**Author's Note:**

> authors note: i listened to perfume genius' no shape while writing this so u gotta listen to that while reading thats the law
> 
> i wrote this a while ago and didn't wanna post it CUS IM SHY but then i was like eh why not so here it is please enjoy
> 
> For Robyn

I.

Tommy had left a jacket at the office, or a sweater, or a satchel or something like that. Point is, he finds himself there on a Saturday, when the office is the last place he should be. Tommy is good at weekends. He’s good at taking days off. He’s good at separating work from the rest of his life. He wasn’t always. It took work. And time. A long time. He was an overachiever in school and on every campaign he worked. A workaholic in the White House, but everyone in the White House was a workaholic, that’s how you get to work in the God damned White House. But he has become good at taking time off. With Crooked and moving and his house life changing. Tommy reevaluated his priorities. He’s matured. Now he’s good at taking time off. The whole time he’s had Lovett and Favs by his side, all on similar journeys. All this to say, when Tommy decided to be the kind of guy who took a day off when he needed it, left work at work etc., Jon Favreau didn’t quite reach the same conclusion. Lovett was always good at doing whatever the hell he wanted, and Tommy admires that, not above admitting it’s inspired him too. But Favs is still exactly the type of person who keeps working just because he can. This is the why, when Tommy drops by the office to pick up his jacket or bag or whatever, he finds Jon, the maniac, at his desk with his computer, _working_.

Tommy isn’t sure who Jon’s trying to impress at this point. It’s not the president. The American people seems a little abstract. It's probably not Tommy and Lovett. Actually it might be Lovett. Most people who met Lovett felt compelled to impress and appease him, Tommy knows from experience but Lovett isn’t here. Jon is. And he’s working weekends again. And Tommy kind of gets that too. He does. 

He’s got earphones in, Jon, and doesn’t even notice Tommy until he comes all the over and leans over Jon’s shoulder to look at his screen. Jon starts in his seat and pulls out his earphones.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asks back instead of answering.

“Uh,” Jon says, “working?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“I know.”

“Why are you at work on a Saturday, Jon?”

Tommy spots an empty container for a store-bought salad on the desk, a Starbucks cup, and a half full mug of coffee.

“How long have you been here?”

“I dunno, came in earlier, I just had something I wanted to finish–”

“Jon, Obama can’t see you.”

“Wha– _hey_, what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Tommy narrows his eyes at Jon and Jon sheepishly averts his gaze. Tommy says, “I’m getting my things, then I’m getting back in my car, I’m gonna go get bubble tea, and then I’m going the fuck home to watch Big Little Lies, cus it’s the fucking weekend.” Jon is just looking at him. And Tommy knows he’s not the boss of Jon. But he also knows how to make him listen. “Close your laptop, Jon,” he says and Jon does with fuss. “Let’s go.” 

This is just what Jon is like. Tommy knows that well enough. He’d usually ask Lovett because Lovett knows everything, but he’s across the country on tour. 

It’s not just that Jon works too much, it’s also that sometimes he gets into, Tommy doesn’t really know what to call them, moods maybe, and he goes back to leaning all the way into his worst habits, and forgets himself in a way that Tommy has worked very hard not to do anymore. Sure, maybe Tommy goes to the gym more often than he actually needs to, and maybe he also has post-White House lapses of intensity, but at least he knows to stay the fuck home on the weekend.

Tommy watches Favs pack up his things, and they walk together out of the building and when he catches Jon reading emails on his phone as Tommy presses his keycard to the thing to let them out he nudges Jon’s shoulder to make him look at and says: “You got plans tomorrow?”

Jon opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything Tommy adds: “Weekend type plans I mean; a movie? Errands? Plans with other people?”

Jon clears his throat. “No,” he says.

“Great,” Tommy says.

They part ways. Tommy gets his bubble tea and it really does hit the spot, he goes home to watch his show, and though he was planning of doing a full day binge and get through at least half of the full season – this was the whole purpose of waiting to watch it – he only gets through two episodes before he gets too distracted and has to turn it off because it’s not fair to himself or to Reese Witherspoon not to give it his full attention. He’s frustrated because Favs infected him with his restlessness and now he can’t stop think about what Jon is doing and if he really went home to do weekend shit on the weekend. But obviously he can’t just call him to ask, Jon cannot know. If Tommy wants to do something he has to be discreet.

“He’s doing that thing again,” Tommy says into his phone as soon as Lovett picks up. Lovett always knows what to do.

_“He? What thing?”_

“Favs.”

_“Oh,”_ Lovett pauses. Then he laughs. 

“What?” Tommy asks but doesn’t get a reply right away, and when he does, it’s not at all helpful.

_“Favs is being Favs and you’re calling to ask me what to do about it.”_ Not a question.

“You always know how to get him to snap him out of it.”

_“How bad is it? Staying late? Coffee for lunch? Or are we talking Full Favs–”_

“No, no, well, he was at work today.”

_“Today is Saturday.”_

“Yes, I know today is Saturday, Lovett, I reminded him of as much.”

_“Oh, Favreau.”_

“So what do I do?” Tommy asks him, “Lovett?”

_“Hah! You’re on your own this time, buddy, I’m on vacation.”_

“No you’re not.”

_“Gotta go.”_

“Lovett?”

_“Good luck!”_

And Lovett hangs up.

That wasn’t helpful at all.

Full Favs is rare and it’s extreme and Tommy knows he wouldn’t be able to take care of that on his own. It’s what Lovett and Tommy call the frenzy Jon goes into sometimes where he gets so absorbed by something, usually work, where he stops sleeping through the night, and forgets to eat and goes on crazy manic tangents. Full Favs Jon Favreau has a conspiratorial streak too. This isn’t that, thank fuck, and Lovett clearly knows that, but Tommy doesn’t really feel like taking chances. 

II.

They go to lunch the next day. Tommy wants to talk to Jon, really talk to him. he realizes it’s been a while since they’ve had a proper heart to heart. 

The day is hot, the sky is clear. Tommy was already excited for his second iced coffee of the day. Or maybe an ice tea. Something iced.

Jon’s head is somewhere else as they take their seats. That’s part of it. He goes somewhere, and Tommy doesn’t share Jon’s neuroses and anxieties, although at this point he’s fairly familiar with them, and Tommy can’t follow Jon to wherever he goes, because it's inside his head. But Tommy and Lovett haven’t gotten pretty good by now and coaxing Jon back. It’s not that serious, Tommy knows that. Well, usually it’s not. And it’s not this time. But it’s something, and Jon doesn’t notice, he doesn’t look up and see that he’s headed somewhere he shouldn’t be, he doesn’t turn around and head back on his own. 

Their table is small and round and towards the back, right under the AC unit. It’s a small restaurant, just one of the other tables is occupied. It’s one of their usual places, usual meaning the few times they don’t order in, this is one of the places they might go. Tommy already knows what he’s getting and only really gives the menu a cursory glance. Jon has a menu in front of it. and he is looking at it, but the more Tommy watches him, the less it looks like Jon is actually seeing it. Jon looks like he’s a million miles away. 

“Do you know what you want?” Tommy asks, and Jon’s head snaps up like he was just pulled from a trance.

“Huh?”

Tommy repeats his question: “You know what you want?”

“Oh, uh,” Jon looks back at the menu, “I guess I, uh…”

“You want something different than what you always get…?”

“I, uh…”

“I’m getting the same.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll– yeah, I’ll get the same.”

The give their orders. They each have a beer.

“You alright?” Tommy asks.

“Yeah,” Jon says, looking intently at the label on his beer bottle, “why do you ask?”

“You know, if something’s up, I’m here if you wanna, you know, talk.”

“I know that.”

“Good, good, I’m just saying.” Tommy doesn’t want to pry, he really doesn’t. He wants Jon to tell him on his own if something is going on, or wrong or whatever. But at the same time, he can’t quite himself. “You’ve been kinda quiet, lately, I guess.”

Jon looks at Tommy for a single second, and either he’s just about to say something, or Tommy just imagines it. Nonetheless, just then, their food arrives and Jon gets out of replying as they move things around to make room on the table.

Jon is on his phone looking at emails. He pulled it out while Tommy was scooping toppings into his soup. First he just looks at Jon, hoping Jon will notice on his own and realize what he’s doing and put it down. He does not. 

“Jon,” Tommy says.

“Huh?”

“Jon. We’re– we’re having lunch…”

“Yes…?”

“Why are you on your phone?”

“Sorry, I just… I’m so sorry but there’s, it’s emails, I got one…”

“Jon.”

Tommy’s tone make Jon lift his eyes from the screen finally.

“Emails aren’t going anywhere.”

“I know… I just–”

“I got emails too. And I’ll read them when I’m not out to lunch with my friend.”

“Sorry,” Jon says, “sorry, I’m sorry,” and he really does sound sorry. “I’m–”

“Don’t… Jon, don’t– stop apologizing, just… just put the fucking phone away. Talk to me, man.”

Jon takes a breath and then locks his phone and places it face-down on the table. Tommy’s feeling brave so he puts his hand on the phone and moves it to the center of the table, knowing Jon’s eyes are on his hand the whole time.

Tommy regards Jon. Jon clearly feels self-conscious under the scrutiny but doesn’t argue.

“Are you…” Tommy begins.

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind.”

Jon seems tense. Tommy isn’t sure how he didn’t notice right away or last week or whatever, but now that he’s really paying attention, he sees it. it’s in the lines of Jon’s neck and shoulders, down his back too. Like a bowstring. Jon isn’t holding his breath in the literal sense but by the shallow rise of his chest with each inhale, he hasn’t taken a proper deep breath in a while. Nothing’s happened, as far as Tommy knows, and most likely, Jon’s just over-caffeinated which really in itself is a symptom.

“Jon,” Tommy says. He uses that tone that he knows will make Jon pay attention. And he does. “How are you doing?”

Jon doesn’t answer right away, like maybe he’s trying to glean from something about Tommy’s demeanor, a specific answer he might be looking for. Tommy doesn’t give him anything. “Not too bad,” Jon finally says.

“Weird non-answer,” Tommy comments.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you feeling stressed?”

“Stressed? Why would I be stressed?”

“What do you do to unwind?”

“I don’t need to unwind, I’m fine.”

“What do you wanna do?” Tommy asks.

“Like, right now? Or in general?” Jon asks with an eyebrow raised.

Tommy sighs. Tommy is a smart man, he knows this about himself. Jon is a smart man, Tommy knows this as well. He does not for the life of him why this has to be so difficult.

“Did something happen?”

“Why are you drilling me?”

“When was the last time you got laid?”

“Pardon me?”

“Sex, Jon, when was the last time you had it?”

“How is that relevant?”

“I’m asking.”

“I don’t really see what it has to do with anything.”

“Look at me, Jon.” It works every time. And every time Tommy feels the same jolt of excitement in his gut. “I’m serious, is there something you need that you’re not getting.” Jon swallows.

“We’re in public.”

“Are you embarrassed? _I’m_ not embarrassed.”

“I’m _not_ embarrassed," Jon says, but he cheeks are pink.

“You know, burying your nose in work probably isn’t gonna help you get your dick touched,” Jon nearly chokes on his drink, “so to speak,” Tommy says. “At least if you were in your home you could do it yourself,” Tommy is on a roll, “but you insist on coming to the office, _even_ when you don’t have to be there, and as far as I know, your particular brand of freak doesn’t include solitarily jacking it at work.” Jon’s eyes are wide and his ears are bright red. “So, Jon. Are you being weird because you’re horny?”

Jon huffs. _“Please.”_

“You’re in your head.” And there, Tommy supposes he’s gone and done it. “What do you want to do?” he asks.

Jon is definitely tense. Tommy considers this for a moment while Jon sucks on his straw. Tommy should probably figure out a way to make him less tense. Something that could help Jon destress. Like a massage maybe. Or…

“We should have a Boys’ Day,” Tommy suggests. This is a good idea.

“Boys’ Day?”

“Yeah just the two of us hanging out, doing fun shit.”

“How is that different from all the other times we hang out?”

“I say it is.”

“Alright.”

“We could watch a movie.”

“What movie?”

“Any movie, what movie do you wanna watch?”

“I don’t know, I don’t really know a lot of movies.”

“You want me to pick a movie?”

“Sure, alright.”

“So it's on.”

“On?” 

“Boys’ Day, next Saturday.”

Jon sighs.

“What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Come rested! I swear to God, Favs, if I find out you got any less than a full 8 hours I will put you back to bed myself.”

“Okay.”

“And we’re gonna do fun shit. Weekend shit.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Get you out of your head.”

Jon meets Tommy’s eye. Tommy holds the look. 

“Do you want me to plan what we do?”

Tommy puts Boys’ Day into their shared Google Calendar.

“You wanna get ice cream?”

"On Saturday?"

"No, now."

Jon looks for a moment like he wants to say no, like he’s thinking about it and he knows he should say know. Tommy does his best to let Jon know that he really does want him to come, without saying anything. And Jon says yes alright. And they go. They get their ice cream, and Tommy is double happy that he is spending this time with Jon, just the two of them, and that Jon seems to be genuinely enjoying himself.

Afterwards they say goodbye and Tommy is the one pulling Jon into a hug, but Jon is the one holding on for just long enough that Tommy notices. Longer than normal, he thinks. And Tommy squeezes his shoulders, he lets him know that he knows. What it is he knows he can’t quite articulate, but he knows Jon well, and Jon knows him, and he knows.

The text arrives from Lovett not an hour after Tommy and Jon have parted ways: _“Boys’ Day?”_ as if Lovett gets to have an opinion. Tommy waits a good while before replying.

III.

All the following week Tommy keeps his eye on Jon. He takes him out to lunch to make sure he’s eating and not working. He jokes around with him, constantly reminds him that he’s there. Lovett isn’t returning until the end of the week, and not coming in to work until next Monday. They record their pods and do their work and at the end of the day Tommy hovers over Jon’s shoulder and watches him pack up his things so they can leave together.

On Wednesday Jon turns in his chair as Tommy is coming over and says: “Tommy, you really don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” Tommy asks as if he genuinely doesn’t know what Jon is talking about. Jon isn’t fooled. Tommy didn’t think he would be.

“I’m not going to just– stop functioning, just because you take your eyes off me for a second.”

“I never said you weren’t functioning.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I’m making sure you’re not staying all night.”

“It’s five, Tommy, that’s hardly all night. What? You don’t trust me?” Jon asks when Tommy doesn’t say anything.

“That’s not a fair question.”

“Why not? Tommy, I’m fine! Nothing’s wrong, there’s nothing wrong with me, I’m just really busy, and I have a billion things to do, and there’s something I want to get done tonight but I still got a bit to go, and honestly, I’m a grown ass man, Tommy, I can take responsibility for myself, I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t nag you for all your bad habits, so it’s really not fair that you keep riding me like this.” Jon takes a breath. He hesitates. Looks around, but discreetly as if he’s pretending that isn’t what he’s doing. “And I just have,” Jon’s ears are turning red, he’s probably realizing how loudly he was speaking. Jon doesn’t raise his voice often. He never makes a scene. He isn’t one for theater, not like Lovett is, he doesn’t like drawing too much attention to himself, confident as he is. But he raised his voice at Tommy right now, and just as Tommy knows that that means something’s up, Jon clearly knows that Tommy knows. “I just have… this thing I want to get done tonight so please.” Jon isn’t meeting Tommy’s eye. “Please just let me work.” 

And Tommy lets him be. He gives Jon a solemn nod and turns to leave. The question had stung, of course Tommy trusts Jon, he’s one of the few people Tommy trusts most in the entire world. But at the same time he knows people need each other, need their friends, need help sometimes to see what they aren’t seeing. And Tommy just wants to help. Jon knows this. Tommy has to believe that Jon knows this.

On Thursday, an intern picks up lunch for a bunch pf people at the office. Tommy is in his wheeled desk chair, and he pushes himself around from his own desk and over next to Jon whose food is still sitting untouched on his desk. And Jon’s desk is a mess. Papers everywhere. And Jon’s not an untidy person, in fact, generally, with few exceptions, he’s a very organized person. But he’s too focused on his computer screen to see the mess. And he’s typing. 

“Jon.” 

Jon starts.

“Food’s here,” Tommy says, and nods in the direction of Jon’s. Jon looks, really sees it, realizes, pushes away from his desk ever so slightly. 

“Right,” he says. He takes off the lid and Tommy has a fork ready for him which he hands Jon.

“Thanks,” Jon says, barely audible. 

Instead of leaving Jon to it, Tommy scoots over a little further so he’s practically sitting right next to Jon, and he puts he feet up on Jon’s desk. This is unnecessary and definitely rude, and he doesn’t care. Jon definitely glares. Tommy lets him. 

“What’s up,” Tommy ventures.

“Well,” Jon begins, “I was kind of in the middle of something.”

And it’s not like Tommy wants to make a habit of interrupting Jon in the middle of work. He’s not trying to piss Jon off on purpose. Well. Only partly, anyway. But it didn’t escape Tommy’s attention that Jon only even noticed his lunch yesterday after someone noticed he’d left it and nudged him. And even though he eventually did eat most of it, he was too busy just skipping between tabs and documents on his computer. Tommy had noticed. He wasn’t spying. He was just looking. And he’d noticed. Jon was barely even working, just busying himself. Tommy is getting increasingly frustrated. He wishes Jon would just talk to him. But it doesn’t seem like Jon wants to talk at all. Whatever it is Jon needs, talking doesn’t seem to be it. Then Tommy has an idea.

“I have an idea,” Tommy says by way of greeting when he calls Lovett.

_“You know, usually when people call other people on the phone they open with ‘hello’ or sometimes ‘this is’ and then their name, you know, introductions, that kind of thing.”_

“You have caller ID.”

_“Which is why I should have known better than to pick up.”_

“Why? You busy?”

_“God, I wish I was.”_

“I said I have a plan,” Tommy says.

_“I heard you the first time.”_

“Don’t you want to hear it?”

_“I’m on vacation, Tommy.”_

“You really aren’t.”

_“Feels like it, a break from you two idiots–”_

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“Oh no,” Lovett says, a little heavy on the sarcasm, _“I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me.”_

Tommy ignores him. “Remember that weekend,” he says, “last year I think, when we all went up to that cabin with lake the moose heads–”

_“Ugh, so freaky.”_

“–and Jon burned a whole in y–”

_“In my shirt! Yeah, I remember, he owes me a new one.”_

“I don’t think he did it on purpose.”

_“I feel like that makes it worse somehow.”_

“But you remember.”

_“Doy.”_

“So you also remember that second night, you know, with the– 

_“I said I remember.”_

“Are you with people?”

_“What do you think?”_

“You remember he was in a funk, that time, like, before, and that was like, half the reason we took that trip, and then… well, afterwards he was like, himself again.”

_“Hmm,”_ Lovett hums, contemplatively. _“He was…”_

“And I know last time it was all three of us, but I have… a few ideas I guess.”

_“Do ya now?”_

“Yeah. So I was thinking, you know, maybe that’s what he needs.”

Lovett is quiet for a moment, thinking.

“Do you think it could work?”

_“Do_ you _think it could work?”_

“Well, yeah.”

_“Have you talked to Favs about it?”_

“Well, sort of.”

_“What the hell does ‘sort of’ mean?"_

“It means we’ve sort of talked about it but not like, explicitly.”

_“Well, I think you have a point, Vietor, but you should probably mention your plan to him before you just go ahead and spring it on him.”_

“I know, I know.”

_“And when exactly were you planning on executing this genius plan?”_

“Saturday.”

_“Then you should probably go talk to him right now, give him time to consider your proposal if you will,”_ Lovett says and Tommy knows he’s right.

“I will then.”

_“Good luck, comrade.”_

“Hey, Jon–”

“Listen, Tommy, I appreciate you trying to help or whatever, but you’re really distracting me, and I’m really just trying to–”

“Remember the cabin?” Tommy asks, and Jon shuts up. “Last year, you, me, and Lovett.”

Jon looks around, making sure no one else is listening. 

“You were,” Tommy isn’t sure what to say, how to describe it, “like now, you were…” Tommy remembers the phrase he used when he was talking to Lovett. “You were in a funk, and then, after, you were… back?” Tommy isn’t sure he’s going about this the right way, but can’t really think of any other better way to bring it up. “the other day when I asked–” and Tommy lowers his voice. He’s not ashamed or even embarrassed about anything they did, but he doesn’t exactly want anyone else in the office listening in. It’s a private matter, is all. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “When I asked the other day, when the last time you… you know. I was mostly joking, well, I was kind of joking. Partly joking. But seriously. Jon.” And Jon is looking around, not at Tommy, not at anything in particular it seems, just anywhere but Tommy.

“Look at me.” 

Jon meets Tommy’s gaze for a short moment, then he gets up, out of his chair and walks, like he has somewhere to be, to the other end of the room. Tommy stays where he is, waits for Jon to return. Jon is pacing. Tommy is patient. He can be the patient one. He wants Jon to see that he’ll wait. Wait for him. That he’s there for him. 

Jon returns, and he has, not a wild look per se, but something a little out of control, a certain look in his eyes that makes Tommy want to grab his wrists and hold him fast. He doesn’t, not here. 

Jon says: “You can’t just– here… in the middle of.” He looks over his shoulder. “Listen, I…” and then he doesn’t continue. 

“I want to help you,” Tommy says. “Distract you if that’s what you need. Take your mind off… whatever.”

Jon looks at Tommy quite intently.

“I mean it,” Tommy says. “If you think it could help… I mean it.”

Jon finally sits back down.

“What do you need, Favs?” Tommy asks him. “How can I help you?”

And Jon is struggling trying to decide what to say, and says nothing, and Tommy fixes his eyes on him, a stern look. “Jon.” He has Jon’s full attention now, maybe for the first time in weeks. He intends to make good use of that. “Tell me what you want. I’ll make you feel good. Whatever you need. I can help you.” Tommy didn’t mean to get this earnest, but here he is.

“I’m,” Jon begins and Tommy listens, he doesn’t interrupt and just waits for Jon to continue. “I don’t know, it’s habits I think, I get… obsessive, I know, I can’t stop, it’s just like, when I start, I can’t stop but–” Jon’s eyes are closed, like choosing his words is taking immense energy, “I am tired though. God,” Jon presses the balls of his hands to his eyes, Tommy realizes Jon really does look exhausted, “I’m tired of thinking,” Jon says, “but I don’t know how to stop… going, you know? It’s– you’re right, it’s in my head, everything and– and nothing at the same time.” Jon opens his eyes but he’s not looking at Tommy “I can’t think and I can’t stop thinking at the same time.” 

“So tell me what you need,” Tommy says, voice soft without him meaning it to be. “What do you want?”

Jon finally meets his eye, and then he says, “I want…” and Tommy listens, he watches Jon and he listens. “I want you to just,” Jon is fidgeting, “to tell me what to do.” They have both been speaking on low voices so no one would overhear, as a result they are now sitting quite close, faces just inches apart. Jon takes a breath and says again: “I want you. To tell me. What to do.” And as he says it he gives Tommy a meaningful look. “like you said… distract me. I suppose.”

Tommy thinks about that for a moment. 

Jon wants to let go for a little while, to let go of his mind, give control over to someone else. Tommy can definitely help with that.

“Yeah?”

Jon just nods. 

“Alright,” Tommy says, “alright, I can do that.”

And with that, Jon seems to let go of a deep breath. He exhales. That alone released a fraction of the tension in Jon’s shoulders. Tommy notices it all. And he takes mental notes. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Tommy emphasizes.

Tommy tells Jon to eat his lunch. He gets what’s left of his own. They eat together. Then, when they’ve both finished he says: “Favs, we’re done for the day, pack your shit and meet me at my house in an hour.”

For a moment Jon looks hesitant, like he’s changed his mind, but then he says: “But the– the emails.” And he doesn’t even sound like he means it. Tommy looks into Jon’s eyes. For once, Jon doesn’t look away.

“With all due respect to you and you work ethic or whatever,” Tommy says, ”fuck the emails. See you in an hour.”

IV.

Tommy isn’t worried that Jon won’t show, but he is pleasantly surprised when he hears the knock seven minutes early.

Jon is there, and he has a small smile on his face and Tommy moves out of the way to let him inside. Tommy closes the door behind him. Then, before he does anything else, he pulls Jon into a kiss. A kiss that warms the body. Loosens it up. A kiss that tells Jon that this is where Tommy wants to be right now. They don’t kiss often, but this is not the first time. The kiss is a sort of agreement to terms. They both know what’s about to happen. Tommy deepens the kiss just for the hell of it. Jon becomes soft to the touch, as if he’s melting. His body moves with Tommy’s. He’s leaning into Tommy.

“Come,” Tommy beckons, and he takes Jon’s hand. First he leads him to the kitchen which, by the look on Jon’s face isn’t what he expected. They just had lunch so Tommy doesn’t offer him food, instead he pours a glass of water and pushes it across to counter to Jon.

“Drink,” Tommy orders. He had meant it when he’d said he’d take care of him. Jon gives Tommy a look and then he drains the glass. “More?” Tommy asks, and he appreciates that Jon seems to take a second to think before he shakes his head. “Alright.” Then he moves past Jon again and when Jon holds out his hand for Tommy to take, he does, and he guides him to the bedroom.

When they are standing in the middle of the room by the foot of Tommy’s bed, Tommy stops. 

“Jon,” Tommy says and he moves into Jon’s space. Jon’s head falls onto Tommy’s shoulder. “Whatever’s weighing on you, whatever it is, if it’s anything, whether it has a name or not,” Tommy puts his hand on the back of Jon’s head. He smooths down his hair. “Give it to me. Whatever’s telling you that you can’t stop and breathe, that you’re not allowed to take a break, give it to me. Whatever’s in your head, you can give it to me.” Jon nods against Tommy’s shoulder. “Give it to me, and I’ll take care of it, I’ll take care of you.” Tommy’s other hand is on Jon’s back, hot through the material of is t-shirt. Tommy slides his hand down Jon’s back until he reaches the hem of his shirt, and he pushes his hand up under it so his palm is against Jon’s smooth skin. Tommy feels Jon shudder. “I just need you to do as I say,” Tommy says and Jon’s breath flutters ever so slightly. “Alright?” 

Jon hums against Tommy. 

“Jon?”

“Yes,” Jon says, a little muffled.

Then Tommy releases Jon and takes a step back.

“Look at me.”

Jon does. His eyes are expectant. His entire body seems to be radiating expectation. It’s a tension, but one completely different from the tension he’s been holding in his neck and shoulder for the last couple of weeks. This tension is less bowstring and more electricity.

“Take your shirt off.” 

Jon barely hesitates before putting it off. 

“Just toss it.” 

Tommy looks at Jon’s face, at his jaw, and with his eyes he follows the line of his neck down to where it meets his shoulder. Tommy has taken another step back so Jon can fully see Tommy regarding him, appreciating him. Tommy looks over Jon’s chest, his flushing skin, his flat stomach. Jon isn’t small per se. He’s not short exactly, but he’s shorter than Tommy, and narrower. Thinner. He works out, but not obsessively. Not as much as Tommy does. Tommy feels protective of Jon in a way that doesn’t really make sense to him. He knows Jon is neither frail nor breakable. Jon is strong. He’s able. He can take a little pushing around, a little manhandling if it came to it. Not today though, Tommy thinks. Another time.

“You look good,” Tommy tells him and Jon huffs, not quite a laugh, but something adjacent to it. “Take your pants off now.” Jon complies. Tommy doesn’t take his eyes off Jon. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jon was blushing from his ears to navel, Tommy might not have known that Jon was embarrassed at all. He is now completely naked except for his socks that Tommy for some reason is just deciding that he wants to leave on. Jon is halfway hard already, the promise of what's to come enough to make the blood go to his groin. Tommy watches Jon for a moment, his eyes lingers on Jon’s hardening dick, long enough to make sure Jon notices him looking. Tommy notices Jon’s hand twitch and he says, “hands at your sides. Don’t touch yourself.” Jon bites his lip. Tommy steps up to him again and places a hand on Jon’s chest, then moves his hand to Jon’s shoulder as he walks around him, slowly, so slowly, and he graces the length of Jon’s arm, touch feather-light, still slowly, so he can feel the goosebumps rising on Jon’s skin.

Tommy gives Jon’s ass a quick smack and Jon jumps a little.

“Get on the bed, Jon.” Tommy watches him move. “On your back,” he says. Jon crawls onto Tommy’s bed. “Wait,” Tommy interrupts before Jon lays down. Jon stops short. Tommy goes over to arrange the pillows, one on top of each other, so Jon can be comfortable. “There,” he says, “go ahead.”

Jon lies back against the pillows just like Tommy intended. His legs a spread slightly, his knees apart. It’s a sight to behold. Tommy follows Jon onto the bed and takes his place between Jon’s legs. Tommy surveys the scene. Weighing his options. Makes a decision.

“Hold onto the headboard.”

“Will you tie me– my hands?” Jon asks as he is reaching up.

“No. You have to hold on. Don’t let go.”

Jon nods. 

“Good,” Tommy says. “All you have to do,” Tommy meets Jon’s eye, “is tell me if it feels good. You think you can do that for me?” 

Again, Jon just nods. 

“Words, Jon. Use your words.”

“Yes,” Jon more so breathes than says. “Yes.”

“That’s good.” Tommy takes hold of each of Jon’s ankles and pulls so that Jon’s legs are more or less flat against the bed, then he crawls up, on his knees, with a leg on either side of Jon’s body so he’s practically straddling him. Tommy doesn’t let Jon feel any of his weight yet, he just hovers above him. “I want to make this good for you, I want to make it easy,” Tommy says. Jon’s mouth is open but he doesn’t look like he’s about to speak. “Sometimes, I think you convince yourself that things are more difficult than they really are. I don’t think it always has to be difficult. You get yourself worked up, and you’re not good at asking for help, not good at taking time off, at relaxing.” Tommy is pushing it, this isn’t what they’re here for. “But you are good, Jon. And you deserve to _feel_ good. I want to help you relax. I want to make you feel good.” Tommy grazes Jon’s cheekbone with a finger. “And fuck,” he says, “you look really, really good.” At this the corner of Jon’s mouth quirks up. And on one hand it feels a little silly, like they are the same age, nearly the same size, and on the other, Tommy quite literally cannot help himself, “good boy,” he says and when Jon nearly melts underneath him Tommy can only think that this is the best idea he’s ever had. “Good boy, beautiful boy,” Tommy breathes into the side of Jon’s face.

Tommy leans in. He kisses Jon again, keeping his mouth closed, just a press of lips to lips. “How’s that?” he asks, still close enough that he feels Jon’s breath against his cheek.

“Good,” Jon says.

Tommy kisses Jon’s cheek, then his mouth again, this time I little harder. Jon’s mouth is already parted, and Tommy licks his top lip, takes Jon’s bottom lip between his teeth. Jon sighs. Tommy presses his teeth into Jon’s lip ever so slightly, enough to pinch and make Jon gasp but not enough to break skin. Tommy moves on to Jon’s jaw, licks a slow line, feels Jon’s stubble against his tongue. Then his neck. Tommy pinches the thin skin there with his teeth. Sucks lightly at a spot. Traces another line with his tongue. He puts his hands on Jon’s chest. Feels Jon’s heartbeat. Feels Jon under him. Meets Jon’s eye. Tommy moves his hand so he can run his thumb over Jon’s nipple. Once, twice, so it rises under his touch. He does the same to the other. Tommy takes care to move slowly, it might be mean, but he wants to draw this out as long as he can, he wants Jon fully spent by the end. 

“Jon?”

“It feels– it feels good, it–”

By Jon’s tone, Tommy gathers Jon wishes he’d just get the hell on with it. Tommy smiles. He bends down over Jon to tease a nipple with his tongue.

“Mhm,” Jon hums. 

Tommy bites down. He nibbles the skin on Jon’s chest, sometimes pausing to suck on a single spot, some places licking lines or circles. Tommy backs up a bit, if he could continue this and keep watching Jon at the same time, he would. He runs his blunt nails over Jon’s skin, rests his hands on the bones of Jon’s hips. He places a soft kiss at the tender spot where Jon’s left thigh meets his hip, then he passes over to the right side where he licks a fat, wet line. Tommy lets go of Jon. Then he takes Jon’s balls in his hand before he even touches his dick. Tommy does little by way of targeted stimulus. He is purposefully going for subtle sensation. He wants to see how long Jon can last.

“That’s,” Jon begins, “yeah…”

“Yeah?”

Jon sighs.

With a hand still on Jon’s balls, Tommy scoots back a bit so he can lean down, face hovering right over Jon’s dick, lying hard and pink against his stomach. Jon raises his head as much as his position allows to watch what Tommy is doing.

“Tell me, Jon, how does this feel?” 

Jon sucks in a shaky breath. And when Tommy licks a stripe along the full length of Jon’s dick. He does it again and this time he closes his mouth around the head. He runs his tongue against the taut skin and tastes salt. He takes his mouth off Jon’s dick for just a second to meet Jon’s eye. Jon’s lips are parted and pink, his eyebrows are furrow like he’s concentrating hard. Tommy licks it again, takes the head in his mouth again. Presses his tongue against the slit.

A soft _“yeah,”_ is just about all Jon manages. Tommy remembers in an instant how Jon has been isolating himself, spending all his time alone and working, he wonders for a second how long it’s been since he’s let anyone touch him like this. Jon never gave a straight answer when Tommy asked the other day. Tommy pushes the thought out of his mind. He can always ask Jon about it later. Right now is not the time for that, right now is for teasing Jon until he weeps, or something like it. Still without using his hands he takes Jon’s cock into his mouth and this time he takes it as deep as he can. Lips closed around the shaft and tongue pressed against the side he bobs up and down once, twice, three times, then pauses. Jon whines. He takes it deep again, sucking, moving his tongue around as much as he can without Jon’s dick, heavy with arousal, falling from his mouth without the support of his hands. Than he releases Jon’s cock with a wet pop and let it fall back against Jon’s taut stomach. Jon’s breathing has become increasingly shallow. He lifts his head a bit. He has been supporting his own weight with his hands on the mattress but now he shifts his weight so he can make use of his hands again.

Tommy reaches and closes his hand around the base of Jon’s cock, and strokes the underside with his thumb. He leans back up so his face is right by Jon’s. 

Tommy strokes the full length once and relishes in Jon’s catching breath. 

“Jon,” Tommy prompts.

_“Good.”_ Jon says. “Fuck. _Really_ good.” Jon gasps. _“Please.”_ Not please _anything_, just an abstract please. Tommy wants to hoot and holler with victory, but knows he’s not there yet, and he keeps his composure as best he can.

“Good,” Tommy breathes right next to Jon’s ear. “You’re doing so well. Don’t let go.”

Jon moans in reply. 

Tommy likes the sound.

He lets go of Jon for a moment to reach over to the drawer in his nightstand and grab the small bottle of lube. He squirts a small amount into his hand and lets the bottle drop back in the drawer, though he doesn’t bother pushing it shut. Tommy takes Jon’s cock again, his grip now slick. Jon reacts to the cold of the lube and Tommy bends down to suck on the head of Jon’s cock appreciatively, before he covers it with his hand and the lube, though flavored with some artificial fruit, not the taste Tommy wants in his mouth.

“Make a little noise for me, baby.” 

A shallow but loud breath, a groan, a whine, and Tommy begins a steady pace. He continues like this more a moment, a slow but steady rhythm, and then when Jon’s hips buck up into the touch Tommy slows down, and keeps the slower rhythm for a few delicious, agonizing second, before be picks the pace up again. 

A sound from all the way back in Jon’s throat. Tommy moves his hand up and down, and takes great care not to get faster. He presses his thumb against the head of Jon’s cock, now slick he glides it over the slit. He moves his thumb in a circle, applying light pressure. Jon chokes out one desperate little sounds after the other.

“Fuck,” this time it’s Tommy swearing. He likes those sounds a lot. “Don’t let go yet,” he reminds Jon. Maybe himself a little too. Tommy flicks his gaze up to Jon’s hands, holding on, trembling and white-knuckled. Holding on like his life depended on it. “Fuck, Jon, you look incredible– incredible.”

Jon manages something like a breathy _yeah._

“Yeah,” Tommy confirms. “Fucking incredible.”

Tommy keeps his same cruel and unchanging pace as he strokes Jon’s cock.

With each stroke Jon inches towards his climax, though the tempo is so punishingly slow that Tommy at one point ready does thing Jon might cry. Experimentally and without preamble, Tommy tries three quick pumps, and Jon’s hips buck, seemingly completely out of his control.

“Stay still,” Tommy orders nonetheless. 

Jon groans. Tommy strokes at the steady pace for a moment and then again, three faster pumps, and this time, by some herculean effort, Jon stays in place although he makes a wild and high-pitched sounds which makes Tommy think he himself might start crying. God, he thinks, God.

“God,” he says. Three fast flicks of his wrist again and this time Tommy is watching Jon’s hands, so see if they stay on the headboard. They do. Barely. Jon loosens the fingers on one hand, but then seems to remember himself and grabs on again. 

“Good,” Tommy croons, he feels hoarse. “Good. Perfect. You’re perfect. So perfect.” Jon’s eyes are closed, but Tommy wants to see. He wants to see it all.

“Open your eyes, Jon. Look at me.” And Jon does look at him, and his eyes are glassy and black as pitch. 

As a reward, Tommy speeds up just a little, but enough that Jon begins shifting. 

“Hhh, ah!” Jon is gasping, moaning. Deep sighs, sharp inhales, long vowels, fried and tight in his throat. Sounds that make him sound like he is on the verge of tears. For all Tommy knows, he might be. His face is flushed. Sweat is glistening at his temples. His eyes are simultaneously fixed on Tommy and somewhere else entirely, like he’s both seeing Tommy and seeing right through him.

“Words,” Tommy says. “Use– your words.” He can’t seem to muster sentences any longer than that right this moment.

“Fuck, fuck, God, fuck,” they are words, Tommy will at least grant him that “…good, really, really good, really good, really… ah! Ah…” Jon is rambling, the words running into each other, “good, fuck, _good,_ God.”

“Good,” Tommy affirms, “you’re doing so well.” Jon’s fact is flushes bright, so is his chest, his shoulders, his ears. His eyelids are fluttering. He looks so fucking beautiful. Tommy tells him so:

“You look so fucking beautiful, Jonny. You’re doing so fucking– you’re so good. So good.” 

And Tommy can’t keep that slow pace any longer, he gives in to a tempo that damn near makes Jon sing. He almost laughs, and Tommy feels a lazy grin spread across his own face.

Jon cries out when he comes. A choked-up mix of a gasp and a sigh. Tommy strokes his through it, slow again. Strokes until Jon begins trembling. Then he releases him.

“Jon, baby, you can let go now.” 

Jon isn’t sobbing, but it’s a near thing. He releases the headboard with another half-sob. 

“That was so fucking beautiful,” Tommy says. He wants to drown Jon is praise. “You were beautiful. You were perfect.” It all comes out in a tumble. He might be rambling. It might be complete nonsense. “So fucking good. So amazing. So beautiful.” 

Tommy leans over to pull off one of Jon’s socks and uses it to clean perfunctorily before dropping it to the floor.

Jon comes to. His breathing slows again. His eyes focus again, and then fix, first on Tommy’s face, then on Tommy’s crotch.

Tommy is rock hard, his cock straining painfully against the material of the jeans he’s still wearing. Gingerly he undoes the button and zipper. Jon quickly realizes what Tommy is doing and thought his eyelids are heavy and his reactions almost sluggish, Tommy still sees a glint in his eyes. 

Jon looks at Tommy, ready to be told what to do.

“No,” Tommy breathes, “no. Just watch.”

Jon who was already beginning to sit up leans back. Tommy is up on his knees. He pushes his jeans and his boxers down his thighs in a single motion, and hisses as the friction against his dick. 

He sees that Jon has put his hands behind his head, ready for a show. Tommy isn’t sure how impressive a show he can put on at this point, he hasn’t even taken his cock in his hand and he’s already feeling a tightness like he’s been touching himself the whole time. 

He’ll do what he can though, for Jon.

Tommy sucks in a breath and he closes his hand around the head of his cock. He looks at Jon just in time to see him lick his lips. The menace. 

Just watch. Tommy isn’t sure the words even make it out of his mouth this time. He lets his eyes fall closed and trust Jon to keep watching.

He wants, for the sake of Jon’s entertainment, to go slowly, and he manages to do so but not for more than a dozen strokes before he lets go of his careful control and starts pumping, he doesn’t try to keep in any sounds, he doesn’t care what he sounds like, he doesn’t care what he looks like, he can barely hear Jon’s sounds of approval over the noise of his own blood rushing in his ears. His hand on his cock and visions of Jon in his mind is a spot of heaven so unbearably sweet and Tommy has to remind himself to breath. He hears his own broken moans. His gaps. He pictures Jon behind his closed eyelids, hears again the breathy sob of Jon’s orgasm, and that’s all it takes to finally take him over the edge. For a few shimmering seconds, everything goes white, his senses abandoning him in his short moment of bliss. He’s breathing hard when he comes back to. he takes another couple of seconds still before he opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is Jon.

“Wow,” Jon says simply, sleepily and appreciatively. He pulls off his other sock for Tommy to wipe his hand and chest with. Tommy takes it.

“Yeah,” Tommy just says and tosses the sock over his shoulder and onto the floor.

N.

They wake up in Tommy’s bed Saturday. Tommy did have a couple of things planned for the day, but he’s quickly revising that plan in his head as he’s watching Jon’s back rise and fall with each deep breath.

Jon shifts, if in sleep or because he’s waking up, Tommy doesn’t know. Then, after a few moments, from within the pillow Jon has buried his face in, Tommy hears soft laughter.

“Jon?” Tommy asks, and Jon’s shoulders begin to shake with it. Tommy can’t help chuckling. “What’s so funny?”

Jon braces his elbows against the mattress and lifts himself up. He’s smiling, giggling still. He sighs. He meets Tommy’s eye and says, with an undeniable smugness: “’weekend shit’, huh? You do this every Saturday? This a regular thing?”

“Maybe,” Tommy says, matching Jon’s tone.

“What about Boys’ Day?” Jon asks, and Tommy pretends he doesn’t notice Jon’s tone.

“I got a couple of ideas,” Tommy says, but he can’t help but smirk, “that is, if you’re feeling up for it.” And Jon smiles a crooked, conspiratorial smile, and raises his eyebrow as if in challenge.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading feel free to let me know if there should be some tag on there that isnt


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